Ghosts of Yesterday
by Natsumi Wakabe
Summary: The land remembers what time has forgotten. And sometimes, she will reveal to you the past that is buried beneath our feet, if we just listen. Some people share what they have seen and heard, dreamt and remembered of a time long gone, in lands that are strangely familiar.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Wakabe Writing Firm doesn't own Lord of the Rings**

**A/N: Okay, so, I finally decided to stop hiding from work and do a damn series. Something's wrong with me, better have Michiko look me over later. Wish me luck, and remember, reviews keep the writer writing and the secretaries editing. -Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)**

_The land never forgets what time has erased._

You can feel it in the trees that whisper of a time long gone. You can feel it in the earth that shakes and rumbles for what has been and has gone. You can taste it in the waters that hold a bitter flavor of tears for the ones that are no more, the ones that have passed on to a place that they cannot return from. And sometimes, sometimes, you can see it in the land itself, when they let loose the memories of ages long gone, and people that no longer exist.

_For all that we have forgotten what was once here, it still remains, hidden._

Buried beneath our feet, deep within the earth, treasures time has tried to forget in order to let the new come forth. There, these little treasures that time has left behind lie in wait for the day that they can be found again, by those that would have them; by those that once had them. It holds the keys of our past, which can never truly return, because those of us that would have remembered have left these shores or have become one with the earth in their shells that once contained the soul within. And those of us who still remain are lost to the world of touch and feel, becoming one with the land as they faded away.

_If you listen to the earth, if you open yourself to her, she will let you see and hear._

See the wonders that once were: the world of another time and life, when everything was magical and mundane, unique but all the same at the same time in the same place that we stand today. If you go to those hills that gently roll and fall, you would hear the sound of a little people that were swift footed and happy in their simplicity, living in the comforts of home and family and especially food. If you were in the forests that have grown old and so beautiful that no mortal man can bear to touch, you would hear the heavenly voices of creatures of impossible beauty and divine light singing in a foreign tongue most soothing and sad. If you were to venture to the caves and mountains long abandoned and fall down through levels of years, you could cross upon the homes of master miners and smiths, kings and master craftsmen.

_And those that carry the burden of the past must try to pass down what once was._

In stories and fables, in legends and myth, where can everyone look. They pass it down through the generations, hoping that the past will reach the future, and never be erased. Though they know that it is not enough, they must try, must strive to help and ground their people in their past so that they have something to return to. They hope to be able to pass down memories and heritage and a sense of who they were and where they've been, what they've gone through and where they can go. They must try to keep the past alive in memory, so that the dark days of yesterday will not come again, and the people that saved them all can be remembered.

_But when these fail, then only the land can remember._

Can hold close the memories of men that once lived there, in cities that no longer exist. Only the land can hide the treasures of the past within: a tomb of a king most beloved and now gone, the spear of a warrior that fell many enemies most foul in a battle that cost him another of his ever shrinking family, where his cries of despair at the body of his sister, laying almost dead, a woman giving her future liege lord and beloved cousin a lament to mark his passing, a battle against creatures of dark magic and evil by a man that will die to defend the innocents when he has lost his.

_But sometimes, the land will let you see it._

Sometimes, you will come to a place you had never seen before, where the land is old, and the earth still holds. And in that place, if the time is right, you can see what history has left behind. Would you like to see, would you like to know what others have seen, and what the land knows?

_Would you like to see what the land remembers and knows?_


	2. Trespassing Forbidden Graves

_Disclaimer: see Prologue_

_A/N: So, here's the first chapter. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going into hiding so that Isuzu won't make me help her with edits for Lost Glimpses. - Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)_

The construction was going well. No bad weather had come upon the land, the crew was not in ill shape, and so far the fabled "Keeper of the Trees and Master of the Lands" that the local people had warned/threatened them with had yet to appear. The trees were deep rooted, but nothing that a group of woodcutters couldn't handle. Even the most stubborn of these proud wood specimen would vanish under the blade of heavy machinery and a group of men determined to be paid.

But this did nothing to ease the feelings of dread and fear that plagued one Mr. Alex Borden, the acting overseeing manager of this little project. As a man that had once been a member of the more superstitious of the human population, he was no stranger to the thought of ghosts, spirits, and guardians. And to him, there was something that screamed that what they were doing on that land was wrong and dangerous. Even the men who were downing the trees and tearing at the land felt it. Three of them had quit within the first week, and though so far they were the only ones, Alex knew deep in his gut that they would all soon be following. Still, for all that the men ignored the ever increasing pressure around them, none could deny that something was going on. Alex certainly couldn't. As the overseeing manager, he was expected to be the first one there and the last one out. As such, it often left him alone in that dark and secluded place that would soon become a building of one kind or another, with many others scheduled to follow if all went as planned. In the isolation of the early hours and late nights, Alex was often plagued by things that he could not prove, and things that should not be possible. The noises he heard from the deeper parts of the forest that they were in terrified him, especially the sounds of a disembodied voice. He had only gone out to investigate once, but even then he could find no source for such, and more than that, he was given even more chills from what was not there but could be felt. Constantly, he felt his eyes drawn to the ground beneath his feet, to the innermost parts of the forest that they were destroying, and to the east, always feeling as though he were being watched. His men had reported, in the breaks between shifts, drinking coffee in the morning and a cold beer in the evening, about whispered words that drifted to them when they were tearing up the earth. They had felt like something was warning them, trying to make them stop, to let what was beneath their feet lay undisturbed by their hands, and let them lie. One had even reported seeing a figure standing in the deeper parts of the woods, with a hat that watched before blinking out of existence. It was unnerving at best and downright traumatically scary at the worst. But he ignored it. if he let these things get to him, then he wouldn't get paid. If he didn't get paid then he'd be behind on rent again.

Looking out over the field, he contemplated what was going to be done when he heard on of the men start yelling out for ground control. Frowning, he made his way over, pushing through the growing crowd of spectacles who had stopped their work so as to see what the commotion was about, and if it would cause them to leave the land for a bit. As he came forward, he saw what it was all about. One of the crews had unearthed a bit of earth, maybe ten feet beneath the surface, and had come upon stone wall. Something cold gripped him, not just his heart, but his whole body, and he flinched at the feeling of it.

"Call the authorities, get an anthropologist down here. Something's not right here." Something really wasn't right here. In all the data that they had on this area, there was never anything that said it might have ancient sights underneath. In fact, all the way up to at least the tenth century, all data seemed inclined to say that this place had always been a forest, had never been without trees and plants and forest life. Nothing should be here.

Nothing, except for the low hum that suddenly started to fill the air.

It was slowly filling up the area, coming from the stone, muffled but growing in volume. Words that he could not understand were slowly taking shape, no longer the humming but sounds and then what seemed to be words of an ancient tongue. Some of the men had already started to run, a few were being dragged away. Many, however, were frozen in place, staring in horror and suspense as it came louder. And then something drew the earth down, and all hell broke loose.

As soon as the earth began to crumble down into an unseen cavern beneath, the rest of the men started running, shouting, dropping equipment and heading toward safety. All except for Alex. He stood there, stalk still, rigid and unmoving as he watched with wide eyes as it further revealed itself. The stone beneath the earth began to take form, showing an archway, a doorway down into the ground, to some place that he knew he should not be. And for one precious second, for the smallest moment, he felt pure fear and terror, a moment where he was in possession of himself, where all he had was that primal fear of danger and death and something terrifying.

Then, something came over him, and he felt like he was being buried within himself. Something that would have scared the shit out of him had it not been for the fact that he became detached from everything.

_"You cannot be here, restless spirits. This can no longer be a place that you claim as your own, for we have all passed away into the land, and your spirit must join us too, before we can finally become but a memory of the land. No longer can you stay, for we must go away- not in thought, not in spirit, but in earthly bounds we claim."  
_

Then, then he felt something come deep from the earth, like the vibrations of a thousand voices, ringing and moaning with a pain and hunger that Alex had never known before. He could feel, through the filter that kept him separated from his body, the grabbing of hands without form, the clawing of nails without flesh, and the biting of teeth without bone. For a moment, a white mass seemed to descend upon his body, and he felt as though he were being pulled into the earth, down, down to a place where he would disappear into the masses of a restless hunger and anger at something that he could not explain or understand. But then, he felt his lips quirk into a smile, before the pains of the invisible but powerful peaked, and then disappeared.

For a moment, the thing that overtook him stayed, briefly, before it fled too. Then Alex found himself slammed back into his own body, feeling everything at full force, all the pain and aches and searing hot pain and the heaviness of his arms and the lightness of his head. Alex wobbled, pitifully trying to fight against the darkness that was creeping from the corners of his eyes, trying to lure him to sleep. Finally, his body gave out and he collapsed to the forest grounds. But as he did, he was given one last vision before he finally succumbed to the dreamless sleep of the exhausted: the sight of a small pile of gold inside the archway of the stone doorway that had been unearthed, and the sight of yellow boots that faded from view.


	3. Funeral of the Second Marshall

_Disclaimer: see ch1_

_A/N: So, this might or might not become another series. If it does, then I get the dubious honor of safeguarding it. Hooray. Send us your thoughts, and if enough people say yes, then I'll make sure to add this to Natsumi's story line up. Thanks for your patience, and wish us luck. - Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)_

_Dokia: darling we adore you, and to answer your question, the things that rose out of the graves were barrow-wights. I know that they are supposed to appear in a certain way, and not in daylight, but I would imagine after so many centuries that they might lose that form, and thus be able to escape at least a part of the sun because of it. Like I said, artistic liberties galore._

_._

_Funeral of the Second Marshal_

.

The land here was bare, flat, with only grass to cover the naked earth below. Occassionally, the land would attempt to rise up to carress the sky, but it always fell short, barely big enough to be considered a hill, more often a roll of the land. There seemed no sign of life, no means of proof that anyone had ever lived here before. No houses stood, no ruins remained. All was silent, save for the howling of the wind as it tunneled through the mountain passes into this unexpected valley. The only form of a landscape was a sudden outcropping of stone and earth that was in the middle of the land. From atop a horse, Elena surveyed the land, wondering how it was that she had never been here before. Clicking her tongue, she urged her horse into the valley, looking around in wonder. As she rode further into the valley, she felt a kind of hush come over the land, even with the raging of the wind. But for all that she should have felt uncomfortable in it, she found a peace in it, as though there were many there with her that walked around, going about their business, as she went about hers. Then, as she neared the tall and jagged plateau, she happened to look to the left, where she saw something glimmering in the light. Frowning, the woman went down, wondering if it was some small sliver of precious gold, unearthed by the wind. However, her horse did not want to cooperate, and after spending a good five minutes calming the mare down, she hopped off, trusting for her ride to stay put. Elena made her way down from where she had been going up the slope, her leather encased shoes sometimes fighting to find traction from the earth beneath her feet, the grass slick and smooth. As she came nearer, she saw that it was no gold or silver that she had seen below. There, at the base of the outcrop, and just before a mound that seemed to have been built into the side, was a woman. She was dressed in black, with a hood or a shawl or a veil of some sort covering up the back of her head. But for all that it held up against the wind, still, locks of gold could be seen flying about her face, glistening in the air as she stood there, alone.

The woman frowned, confused by this. No one had been here before, and her clothing was strange. They were not like the pants that most women chose to wear nowadays, and the even the dress she wore did not hold to any of the modern fashions that were currently all the rage. She could possibly fit in at a Renaissance Faire, but somehow it seemed off. It were like she were something completely different. What was she doing?

Then, in a melody most haunting, grief filled and torn but strong and loud, echoing across the land, over the howling of the wind, came her voice. It resounded through the land, echoing off the mountain pass, resounding in the valley leading out, and swirling around the outcrop. The words that rolled off her tongue were of an ancient tongue, foreign but familiar, in the way that Latin was familiar, even if not totally understood by those who spoke the more mainstream languages that had outlasted many others whose history and background had faded from time. It flowed and burst forth, giving voice to a tragedy that Elena did not know and could not help but react to. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked away the sudden rush of tears that sprang from the lament of this woman. And it was a lament. There was no other way for it to be anything but. And still, without knowing what it was this tall, proud, beautiful woman sang of, Elena still reacted. With her head bowed, but eyes still focused upon her through the mist of tears, she whispered the words with the woman, though she had never heard this language before in all her life, her voice growing louder and more emotional with every passing second.

How long they sang, Elena did not know. All she knew was that she felt within herself a sharp pain to her gut, the taste of tainted steel, and the bitter taste of blood and sorrow and regret. When at last it was over, and their voices faded from the land, all Elena could hear was her staggered breathing, which pushed in and out of her with great effort, tears falling down her face silently. Even the wind had stopped blowing, as though to honor the one that they had sung for. Then, the woman turned to her, slowly, as though movement was hard, but more graceful than any dancer could ever hope to be. Elena froze, her muscles freezing, her breathing stopped. The woman raised her head slowly from its bent position, rising slowly, eyes downcast until at last her head was held high. Then, blue eyes met their modern counterpart, piercing through her very soul. An eternity passed between them, with the wind returning with a vengeance all around them. Distantly, Elena could hear her horse panicking, but staying close, just as she had been taught since she was a colt. But this did not concern Elena. Nothing did. Because in that moment, in that eternity that she had with this woman, she knew and saw tragedies long gone, saw the death of loved ones that no longer were bound to the earth, and the beginning of the end for those that had once been and were now lost forever.

And then it was over.

A blink of an eye, a final tear from pain that she did not carry before, and suddenly she was no longer there. Her golden hair no longer glistened in the sun, nor was her fair complexion standing out from the black funeral attire she wore in her grief. The overwhelming emotions that had taken hold of Elena were gone, returning to her her ability to breath, to feel the wind dance and pull over her skin, and to let her weakened legs tremble and let her fall to the grass below her. She was shaking, she realized after a while, and not just from the cold. Hastily, she got to her feet, clicking her tongue and calling to her mare. As she hopped onto her back, she led her away. But like so many others, she could not help but turn back, one last time, to look at where the woman had stood before. She needed proof that it had not really happened, that it was all in her head, that it wasn't real, what she experienced. And for a moment, it seemed like it didn't. But then she chanced to look at the mound she had been in front of and felt her heart give a painful squeeze.

The mound, once barren save for the grass, was covered in small white flowers. And, looking at the path that they blazed, led straight to where she had been standing just moments before.


	4. Ruins and Whispered Touches Part 1

_Disclaimer:see ch1_

_A/N: Living between cities and forests and bodies of water has its advantages, especially when inspiration is needed. That pretty much sums up how this came around.- Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)_

_Dokia: you are too sweet! I am glad that it hit all the right buttons, sad and creepy but beautiful. Just to clear it up, yes, the ghost woman singing was Eowyn, and the flowers were Simbelmynë. Not to worry, this story is going to go on, if I have any say in it. Thanks again!_

* * *

Ruins and Whispered Touches Part 1

Harry Emerson could hardly believe his luck. Not only were he and his twin going on their first real camping trip without their parents, but it was also in the Firestone Valley, an extremely secluded and private forest nestled snuggly between a large mountain range, as well as guarded from the outside world by a river and a bog-like marsh, full of so much life and almost completely untouched by human hands; it was magical. They could hardly believe their luck at being afforded this great opportunity, especially during Spring Break.

The one downside to it all was that their best friend, Eric Lodge, was unable to accompany them. Or to be more specific, unwilling to go with them. He had flat-out refused to come, saying that there was nothing they could do or say to make him go the Firestone Valley, not even some of their best blackmail material. He refused to budge, and when prompted as to why, he shook his head, saying that they would find out soon enough. Henry, Harry's twin, had gotten a bit hesitant about going, but Harry wouldn't hear of it. They had been planning this trip since they were kids, and went on their first camping trip with their parents. It had always been a dream of theirs to do it on their own with friends, to feel nature all around them, to immerse themselves in it. And nothing, not even friends that suddenly turned squeamish and fickle over a camping site, would stop them.

Besides, they were well prepared.

They had not been idle while waiting for the day that they could do this. Both twins were skilled at hunting, and not just with a gun. Being from a family of archers had its benefits, and so they tended to favor the bow to the gun. They had also taken survival training from their uncle who used to live up in the mountains before he left them for the city. They had packed all their gear, made sure that their parents knew where they were going, as well as making sure that the rangers for that park knew about them.

So on the day that they finally got there, the two of them were dirty and tired from the long hike to the valley, but crazy happy. Suddenly, years of dreaming, months of good behavior without pranks, weeks of planning and days of polishing up last-minute details and three minor disasters that almost made it impossible for them to go, was all worth it. In the face of such beauty and life and pure and raw nature, all those headaches no longer seemed so important.

As the pair of them walked through, admiring trees strong and thick, filled out with age and strength that only the earth could ever know, Henry suddenly stopped, stiffening slightly as though he suddenly felt as though someone was watching him. Harry instantly picked up on his twin, and stopped walking, turning his body slightly so that he could look behind at Henry.

"Henry?"

Henry stayed still a bit longer, his eyes scanning his surroundings, before he shrugged and gave his twin a helpless smile.

"Don't tell me you're getting all paranoid because of what Eric said. Come on, it's not like there's something here that'll reach out and eat you. You heard the rangers; there hasn't been a single report of a bear, a mountain lion, or anything here for years. If there ever was one to begin with."

"Yeah, but-"

Henry suddenly turned sharply, looking behind him like he knew something was there.

"Henry? Don't get all creeped out all ready. We still have a week to stay here. You want to get creeped out, do it later."

"Yeah," Henry breathed, his eyes still on the forest behind him, staring as though he could will whatever was in there to show itself. Shaking his head after a minute, he gripped his backpack tighter to himself, and walked on, but threw one last glance back, wondering what was there.

* * *

It didn't take long for them to set up camp, but by the time that they finished, the sun was beginning to set. Deciding to call it an early night, the two of them quickly went into their tent, and got comfortable, making sure to leave the zipper undone, wanting to be able to watch the forest transgress from sun set to night, knowing that it was so much different from the city, where lights from lamps and houses would try to replace the fading light of day. Instead, they knew that the only lights that they would see was the stars that would shine down on them, and the moon in all her glory.

But just as the sun went down, so too did the last of the illusions of being alone disappear with the light.

* * *

Perhaps, Harry thought, the worst thing about being here with only one other person, was that when both of you were beginning to freak out, there was no one else there to calm you down. Really, they should have listened to Eric. He was always so much more knowledgeable when it came to places to camp and their back stories. Hell, he was the one that had initially gotten them excited about this place- he said he'd gone there once.

Harry frowned when he realized that. Yes, Eric _had _said he'd been to Firestone Valley. When he was younger. In fact, it was shortly after they'd become friends, back when they were all still in single digits, before even fifth grade. Harry remembered a bit of it. He remembered how excited Eric had been, the way that he had bounced around for weeks, and how disappointed and jealous he and Henry had been when their parents had refused to let them go with Eric and his family. It was what had inspired them to do this, he suddenly realized. It was what had prompted them to dream of it, to research the Valley in the first place. So why was it that now they were here, they both felt like there was something more?

He rolled onto his sides, frowning as he noticed something from the outside of the shelter of his tent. Through the thin but strong barrier of the tent, he noticed, for lack of a better word, a glow from outside. It was not particularly powerful, nor was it did it seem to come from any particular direction, but it was still there. And it was raising Harry's hackles like nothing else did. He quickly turned back to Henry, who had his nose literally buried in his book, eyes trained on the words before him, purposefully blocking out the rest of the world, determined not to spook, despite his earlier misgivings.

"Henry!"

"What?"

"There's a light outside."

"No there's not," he denied, without looking up.

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

Here, Harry got too irritated with his denial and ignorance to stay verbal and so transitioned to the physical. He reached out and quickly bat the book down, his open hand slapping the book down with an audible _WHOOP!_ Then, when his twin finally looked at him, he nodded his head toward his side of the tent. Henry's eyes widened as he took in the soft glow from outside, and then blinked owlishly at it.

"What the hell is that?"

"I don't know."

The two of them stared at the glow for a while longer in silence, unwilling to bring any attention to themselves, in case it turned unfriendly. Harry began to fidget in his sleeping bag, needing to do something but unsure what. Henry had yet to look away from the lights, trying to figure out what it was. Finally, it became too much for Harry, and very quickly, he wormed out of his sleeping bag and reached over to the pile of clothes that he kept on his side, and quickly began to change.

"What are you doing?" Henry hissed, brows slightly furrowed in worry. He really did not need to deal with his twin's foolhardiness, especially on their first night alone there.

"I'm going to go see what it is." He was tying up his hiking boots, making sure they were tight before he started rummaging around for his flashlight.

"Now?"

"Yes now."

"But we don't know what it is!"

"Exactly. If we go find out now, then we can know what it is we're dealing with."

Silence for a moment, beyond the shifting of clothes and gear, descended upon them before Henry sighed in defeat, and started getting dressed as well. As soon as both of them were armed with flashlight and crossbow, they both quietly crept out of their tent, making sure to leave a flashlight on inside so that they could find their way easier. As they exited the tent, they looked around, frowning slightly. There was no light source close by, and what they could see was a soft glow from further inside the forest. Looking at each other, they nodded, and pointing their flashlight down, started walking toward it. It took them some time to get close enough for the light to become more than a soft glow, but as they did, it felt as though the there was something in the trees, watching them. Not like an animal, but like something intelligent, but not malevolent. A bit curious perhaps, but almost distant. Instinctively, they both pulled together, walking side by side when they could, and staying close, becoming unnerved by what they felt. Finally, they came to a clearing, where there seemed to be a kind of light that spread over what was before them.

And what was before them seemed impossible.

"Is that a... a statue?" Henry said, face the image of surprise.

"How can you tell, under all that foliage?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side as he brought his flashlight up, running its light up and down statue. It was a strange thing to see, especially since none of the data that they had been able to find on it said anything about the land coming into the hands of men or the ruling of a culture that dared to mar its surface, to tear up trees. In fact, it was mostly left alone, except maybe the borders but even then it was only for the most basic means of survival. So to find these signs of civilization, finding proof of another time still above the surface was nothing short of amazing.

"Look," Harry whispered, as he pointed his own flashlight out beyond the covered statue that had held their attention for a while now. Through the foliage and stranglehold of weeds and growing trees and flowers and the power of the earth and plants, they could see that there were more things out there, more signs of people that had once lived there, still standing, even if the state of its decay was such that most looked like it was nothing but a means for the plants to grow.

"This is awesome," breathed Harry, a smile stealing over his face. But Henry did not feel quite the same. He kept looking over his shoulder, turning around, and looking around.

"Harry, let's go."

"But Henry-"

"Harry, now. There's always tomorrow."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to argue, wanting to explore now, under the light of the moon, to see everything. But looking at his twin, and seeing the blatant discomfort he was in, was enough for Harry to give in. Henry had always been more sensitive to things, having a kind of sense that warned of dangerous places, which complemented Harry's sense of dangerous people. So if Henry was feeling like this wasn't right, then he would follow.

Like Henry said, there was always tomorrow.


	5. Ruins and Whispered Touches Part 2

_Disclaimer: see ch1_

_A/N: Sorry for how long it took to update. Midterms are evil, especially when all the teachers have them on different days throughout the course of two weeks. Hope you enjoy, and please review to keep Natsumi writing. Many thanks-Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)_

* * *

Henry Emerson couldn't believe his luck. Here they were, he and his twin, alone in one of the most beautiful and supposedly least touched parts of the world, and he and his twin had found a fucking group of ruins of some great civilization here. It was beautiful, it was unreal, and it gave him the creeps like not even the creepiest pervert could ever hope to give him. To make matters worse, Harry, his twin, seemed to be in love with the place.

It wasn't that Henry didn't appreciate the beauty. No, he could see it, saw past the crumbling structure and the overgrowth of undergrowth. He could see the care that had gone into creating such a place. He saw it in the statues of maidens and men, warriors and lords and ladies, perfectly frozen in poses of watchfulness and solitude. He could see it in the way that paint still clung stubbornly to parts of the structures, giving a hint of the people who once lived there. He was not blind to the beauty and wonder of those ruins.

It was just that he was not ignorant of the touches he felt, and the whispers of something else.

Unlike his twin, who seemed to be unaffected by the feel of fingers unseen gliding over his skin, unaware of the invisible feel of a mouth breathing against his ear. He didn't feel any of it.

But Henry did.

Henry could feel those hands run across his body, making him twitch and flinch. He could feel those puffs of air on his neck, over his ear, making him shiver. But still, he said nothing. Not yet. After all, it could all be in his imagination. He could just be over thinking things and making him imagine things. Briefly, his thoughts flashed to his friend Eric Lodge, and his unusual decline to accompany them on their little trip here. It was, after all, he that had made the Emerson twins want to go in the first place. So why was it that he had refused?

_Perhaps_, Henry thought as he flinched at another feeling of fingers wandering over his shoulder,_ it was because he got the same creepy ass feeling that I've got now._

Still, there is no proof he can offer to Harry to show what he has. He only has this feel of eyes watching - not in malevolence but vague curiosity and on another level, perhaps a bit of mischief. Oh, Henry will listen, maybe even go back to camp with him, but Henry knows that Harry is taken with this place. Hell, even Henry would love this place, full of history and mystery, if not for the way that those unseen forces are growing bolder and how those puffs of air are taking on more, slowly beginning their journey from almost inaudible breathing to almost inaudible words or laughter. And that just freaks Henry the fuck out.

But he doesn't say much about it, trying to push such thoughts of things that are simply not possible as far from his mind as possible. Besides, Harry's having a grand time exploring, now that the sun is out and they've both returned to the ruins that are too close to their camp than Henry is comfortable with. Still, he shoulders on, taking in all the beauty of the place, how magical and majestic and unreal it all is. And for a good three hours, he is able to mostly brush those things that _aren't real, damn it_, away from him. And if he flinched unexpectedly, or looks over his shoulder as though he expects someone to be there, well, it's just because he can imagine people living here.

Sometime between the third hour and the fourth, Henry finally takes notice of the way that his twin is growing increasingly uncomfortable, no matter how he seems to be enjoying this forbidden and untouched piece of history that seems to have been left behind by time.

"Henry."

A single word, barely loud enough to be heard by his twin a good yard or two away, who is bent over looking at the amazing detail put into one of the pillars, but it makes Henry stiffen. He knows that tone, and knows what is being asked in it. He wants to answer, to explain, to share, but for this, which he has always been cursed with, to know these places are more than what they appear, as opposed to his brother who knows that people are more than they appear, he cannot. So he shakes his head and gives his best smile. Harry doesn't look convinced, eyebrow raised in a way that reminded him of their father, but doesn't press. Harry knows that Henry will talk soon enough.

For now, he turns away, and walks over the beautiful stone bridge, still intact and functional, even with how the trees on the side have widened with age and started to swallow parts of it.

Henry, who had turned back to the pillar, fingers tracing every nuance, learning every curve, didn't see him go. If he had, he would have followed, because even in broad daylight, it still wasn't enough for him to feel comfortable being alone.

* * *

In retrospect, Henry really should have spoken up. Harry had always been more than willing to wait for Henry to give voice to what he felt. But more than that, he was willing to do things to make him speak quicker than if he did nothing, or coddled him. So when Henry realized that his evil twin had run off to explore, he quietly cursed. Immediately, he set a brisk pace to the bridge, knowing that he would have gone further into the ruins than go around the edges.

"Harry!"

His voice seemed to ring out and rebound against the stone walls. All around him he could practically see his voice hit the pillars and stones around him, and he shivered as the sound of his voice seemed to vibrate against him, through him.

"Harry!"

Henry could feel the air around him growing heavy, making him panic a bit before he forced it down, determined to find his erstwhile brother before he fell off a cliff or something equally stupid that would result in their mother scolding them again.

"Damn it, Harry! How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off!" Henry's temper started to rouse, knowing that his twin knew better, but that his sense of adventure had once more seen him off and away from his own. "Harry, get your ass here now!"

_"Suilad, penneth."_

Harry froze for a second, before he spun around, tripping over his feet as his eyes darted frantically over the whole area.

"Who's there?" Out of instinct and a need to know that he was not as helpless as he seemed, Henry drew out his knives, his pupils contracting as adrenaline rushed through his body, sweat beginning to form in the middle of his back. His stance widened, ready to flee or fight, depending on what happened next.

_"Av-'osto, tithen pen."_

Again, the voice came, just as faint as before, but closer now. In a moment of panic, Henry started running again, jumping over outstretched branches that seemed to be trying to ensnare him in their finger like twigs and weaving through the mess left behind by another age.

"Harry!" Henry bellowed, desperate beyond belief to have his twin with him, to know that he was not the only living man there. Then, he felt something grab hold of his ankle, making him go down in a rush of curses and limbs. He tried to scramble to his feet but fell again. In his frustrated panic and fear, he turned, one hand shooting out before he saw what it was that held him.

One of the statues, face still intact, colorless except for the vines of some plant that had made it its home, hand its hand out, cupped in a manner that, if it had been standing up, would have been viewed as if in either greeting or had once held something. At that moment, it held Henry's ankle. Normally, it would not have terrified Henry, but when he looked at that statue, he felt as though there was something inside of it that had force its hand out, grabbing him and keeping him prisoner to whatever was there.

A broken and terrified sound rose from Henry, like some bastard lovechild of a gasp, a sob and a scream, as he frantically worked to get his ankle free.

Then, he felt a cool hand on his back and froze. Bile rose in his throat and his heart was swept up in the journey, but somehow it did not expel from his body. He couldn't move, couldn't even blink from his bent position on the floor, and not even a tremor rocked his body.

_"Man ceril?"_

On one level, Henry recognizes that this language is beautiful, that it rings like a bell, clear and clean. Another part is wondering how it gained volume when before it was only just loud enough to send him in a frenzy. The rest, however, is nothing more than a jumble of half-formed thoughts and feelings, all directed toward panic and fear and the fight-or-flight instincts.

_"Penneth?"_

Hearing that, loud and clear, as though it was his brother there with him instead of whoever it was that still had a hand that had glided from his back to his shoulder, made him stiffen even further, until his body relaxed enough to allow him to slowly turn his head, to see who was behind him. Face a mask of fear and dread, mixed with a mild sprinkling of curiosity. As he did, he caught the sight of... he'd say a man, but not even the most stunning of actors or models could quite compare with the being that was kneeling behind him. He(?) was fair of skin, dark hair falling around his face in a curtain of liquid chocolate, and eyes that were so blue that they seemed to be like ice, if not for the warmth that was within. There was something about him that made Henry want to calm down, to settle, but his nerves were too much, and even with such a calm aura about the specter, he could not find it in himself to calm. Instead, he bolted, feeling his ankle stretch for a moment before he was free, and tearing down the deserted hall. But he couldn't stop himself from looking behind, and what he saw made him choke on air before he returned his gaze to the faded figure, and saw not one, but two of them, both alike in appearance, the one he had left still kneeling on the floor, his eyes trained on his retreating figure, and another standing behind him, head tilted down and left, his eyes on the other still on his knees, a hand on his shoulder. Then, his eyes snapped up and locked with Henry's forcing him to choke on air and turn.

As he turned a corner too sharp, throwing himself toward a wall, he suddenly collided with a warm, solid body. And if Henry happened to scream, well, it had nothing to do with the fear that tore through him like the wind of a great storm. And it was certainly not two octaves higher than was proper for a full-grown man to emit.

"Henry!"

"Harry!" For a moment, Henry can only stare at his twin, something like relief and shock twisting around in his gut before anger flew away with his hands.

"Ow! What was that for, bastard?" Harry asked as he rubbed at the place that Henry had punched, pouting as he did so. Henry was still too angry to feel sorry about it.

"Serves you right! What were you thinking going off without me!"

"Henry-"

"Don't you Henry me! We're leaving!"

"But!" Harry raced after his twin, who had promptly spun on his heels and stalked back the way they came. "But there still so much to explore!"

"I don't care."

"Henry!"

"No."

"Henry~"

"Not now, Harry."

As the two brothers continued back to their campsite, two figures materialized from the shadows, eyes watching them both turn. They turned back to one another, smiling for a moment before gliding through the halls, and fading from view.

They were willing to be patient and wait for them to return. After all, they had all of eternity.

* * *

_I'm not sure if I want to continue with them, or just let this be their last piece. Henry and Harry are fun, but maybe I should just leave them here. Tell me what you think. Many thanks._


	6. Home in the Woods

_Disclaimer: see prologue_

_A/N: Sad face. We wanted something more fun, so we pestered Natsumi to stop doing tragedy and try doing happy things. Hope you enjoy, and please review.-Onoro (Elf Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)_

* * *

When Anna thought of home, she didn't think of that hollow house she'd resided in for seventeen years of her life. She didn't think of bare walls with only a few modest and fake "happy family photos," where her smile was strained and with her teeth on edge. She didn't think of home as those four white walls, too clean and bright to give proof to the turbulent and changing and ill-content girl she'd been before she had been able to escape to the freedom of college.

No, that wasn't home. Home was the forest that lay right at her feet behind the house, where birds flew around in a freedom she had envied and admired for much of her life. Home was the hollow in the tree she'd found at the age of five, already weary of the oppressive and lifeless and orderly atmosphere that characterized the house she existed in for too long.

She thought of home as the woods and the voice of the forest, always singing, always full of life and light and something like love, no matter the mood those living, breathing trees were in, or what troubles Anna brought into that forest.

And occasionally, in her most secret thoughts that she refused to admit even to herself most of the time, Anna thought of home as the imaginary friends she'd never quite outgrown, even now at the age of twenty-five.

But for all that she felt that the forest was her home, she still had obligations and duties as the oldest daughter of that house that now stood vacant for the first time in sixty five years. Sixty five years since her grandfather had built it for his new wife, where they raised their children and lived until an accident stole them away and left their eldest son with a house too full of precious memories to get rid of but too painful to leave the way it was, because each smear of food held a memory, every floor board contained a moment, and the closets held secrets he didn't want to remember anymore.

And now he and his wife, Anna's father and mother, who had lived in the house since day one, were gone too, leaving it not to their eldest son, not their youngest daughter, but to their middle child, their rebel of a daughter who walked out the door and never looked back. And Anna had never felt more horrible than when the lawyer had read the will that told her why.

_And to our daughter, Anna Marie del Mar, we leave our house, the place where you grew up, but left too early. We hope that you can create more happy memories now that we have gone. Do what you will, child, and know we love you._

Anna smiled bitterly as she remembered those words, a part of her wanting nothing more than to give it up to her older brother, with his pregnant wife. It would have been a good way of continuing the family tradition, but no. That was a disrespect to her parents that she could not bring herself to do, never mind the pains of childhood and adolescence that had sent her running years too soon.

Sighing, she looked around the house, finding it very much the same as the last time she was here, walking out the door three days after her seventeenth birthday. The same white walls with the same photographs. The same smell of Windex and cleaner and fake floral scent in the air. And the same empty feeling all around.

Well, this would not do for the new lady of the house.

Reaching down, Anna hefted up the hammer she'd purchased not to long ago, and tapped it to the wall gently, one final soft goodbye. Then she raised it up and brought it down in a show of strength not often seen by her.

The sound of metal hitting plaster and wood had never sounded so beautiful in that too silent home.

* * *

After a couple of hours spent putting holes into the wall (the one that separated the dining room from the kitchen, the wall she hated most out of the entire house) Anna thought she deserved a reprieve, and so after locking the door of her home, she went to the backyard, and left the civility of her home for the wildness of the woods.

The same woods that she'd loved as a child.

And just like the house, they were unchanged, untouched by anyone, and still just as beautiful as she remembered, if not more so. Trusting her feet to guide her, she let her mind wander, taking in the feeling of fresh country air against her skin, the scent of trees and earth filling her nose, and the beautiful, natural colors of the coming sunset fill her vision through the trees and shrubbery.

After some time, when her eyes became heavy, she heard the soft singing of friends she'd left behind some five odd years ago. Beyond her lids that shadowed her eyes in darkness, she could see light, soft and warm, welcoming in a way that her new house was not yet. She heard a language older than time itself softly enter her ears. She felt gentle, wisps of air that were almost like fingers and hands touch her gently, in a way her mother's hands had never been able to.

She did not question the feeling of not-hands in her hair, didn't think to wonder at the way she didn't open her eyes to see people that were not there. She didn't wonder at why after eight years she was still able to feel them there, feel this lightness and calm. There was no reason for her too. No reason to question the way that familiar and gentle whispers floated around her, no reason to question not-hands that ran through her hair.

There was no reason to be afraid; _this _was home.

And maybe this time, the house would be home, too.

* * *

_Sorry it took so long, but we ran out of steam for a while. Hopefully, we'll do better next time to remember to ready ghost stories more often. So, anyone want to take a guess as to what it is that Anna's "imaginary friends are?_


End file.
